


Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

by toyhto



Category: True Detective
Genre: 2002 or 2003, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, My dudes I'm trying to write humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: The idiots at the station think Marty's getting laid.
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [[translation] 马车载我把家还 Swing Low, Sweet Chariot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947708) by [hieroglyphics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieroglyphics/pseuds/hieroglyphics)



They’re idiots, all of them.  
  
“He’s getting laid,” Bill says.  
  
Sometimes Rust doesn’t know why he bothered to learn their names. Alright, he works with these assholes. But what he prefers to think is that he works with Marty, and these other people just hang around at the station.  
  
If Marty was here, he would tell the idiots to shut the fuck up. Marty would do it nicely, too, wouldn’t even piss them off. But Marty’s not here yet, and coincidentally that’s the reason why this fucking nonsense is happening.  
  
Rust bites his lip. If he tells them to shut up, they’re going to take it as a personal insult, which is kind of impressive considering their deduction skills, because it would be. A personal insult. It would definitely be a personal insult. So, that’s why he stays quiet and lets them continue their excellent conversation about why Marty’s been in a good mood lately. At least they don’t seem to be needing Rust’s input on issue.  
  
“There’s no way,” Michael says. Marty goes to fishing with him sometimes. Once, Marty asked Rust to come along. He didn’t. “He and Maggie have only been separated for six months.”  
  
“Yeah, my point exactly,” Bill says, the goddamn idiot. Rust wants to slap him on the face. Once, when Bill was being exceptionally stupid, he asked Marty if he could. Marty said no. “There’s no way Marty’s not been getting any for _six months._ And have you seen him lately?”  
  
“Yeah,” Arthur says. He’s averagely tolerable but only when he’s outside the impact of the other idiots. “He looks like he always did.”  
  
“Exactly,” Tom says. He’s the only one of them who sometimes tries to make small talk with Rust. Rust’s been trying to make him stop but nothing’s working. Next, he’s going to try a delicate mixture of existentialism and epistemology. “And he’s in the middle of getting a divorce. The man should be a wreck.”  
  
“Maybe it wasn’t a bad break-up,” Michael says.  
  
“All break-ups are bad break-ups,” Bill says. “And don’t you remember?”  
  
“Remember what?” Arthur asks.  
  
“What happened right after,” Bill says, lowering his voice, like it’s going to help. Rust’s only a few feet away from them, at his own desk, minding his own fucking business, or at least trying to. “He and the taxman,” Bill says, “at the parking lot. Didn’t you hear about –“  
  
And then they all turn to look at Rust. Rust rubs the side of his nose. He still doesn’t know how that particular piece of information got out. He didn’t tell anyone about Maggie and him, and he’s pretty fucking sure Marty didn’t either. But yeah, maybe that fight at the parking lot was some kind of a clue.  
  
“Anyway,” Bill says. Maybe he suddenly remembered Rust has ears. “Marty’s been so happy lately. Yesterday, he was _whistling._ ”  
  
“Really?” Arthur asks. “Whistling what?”  
  
“ _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_ ,” Bill says. “He’s surely getting laid. There’s no other explanation.”  
  
Rust frowns at his papers. He didn’t use to hate _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_ , but he sure as hell hates it now. He’s tried to give Marty ideas about something else to whistle, like, perhaps something sad. But Marty says he likes the song.  
  
“Are you sure he hasn’t said anything about who it is?” Bill asks.  
  
“I still think you’re wrong,” Michael says. “Maybe he’s just happy. You know they just solved a tricky case, Rust and him. They’d been working on it for a long time.”  
  
“Nothing makes a man happy enough to start whistling _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_ ,” Bill says, “nothing except pussy.”  
  
Rust takes a deep breath. He’s not going to say anything.  
  
“What about God?” Arthur asks.  
  
“No,” Bill says, “no, have you seen the look on his face? He’s thinking about pussy.”  
  
So, alright, Rust wasn’t going to say anything, but there’s a limit for how long a man can listen to that kind of a bullshit in the morning. He turns to look at them and they seem surprised to find out that he’s still here. Great detectives, all of them. “Not everyone’s so excited about pussy,” he tells them.  
  
Bill looks at him like it’s a riddle. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Rust opens his mouth, then thinks about what Marty’s going to say when he finds out that Rust’s been having this conversation with the idiots. “Never mind.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bill says, “no, it’s pussy. It’s got to be. It’s –“  
  
“Morning,” someone says from the door. It’s Marty. Thank fuck, it’s Marty. He walks through the room, looks at Rust and then at the rest of them, and obviously manages to get at least half of a picture. “What’s going on in here, boys?”  
  
“Nothing,” Bill says. “How’re you?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Marty says with a wide smile. He looks like a man who’s getting laid and can’t stop thinking about it and also thinks he’s being discreet about it.  
  
Rust sighs silently. Sometimes he dreams about early retirement.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“They were wondering if you’re getting laid,” he tells Marty when they’re on their way to scare the hell out of a suspect. Unofficially, of course.  
  
“What?” Marty asks, sounding surprised that anyone could think that. “Who?”  
  
“The idiots.”  
  
“Oh.” Marty glances at him. “You know those guys are my friends.”  
  
“And you know I’m trying not to hold that against you,” he says. “Bill thinks the only reason why you’d be whistling _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_ is that you must be thinking about pussy. And yeah, that’s how he expressed it.”  
  
“I just like the song,” Marty says, sounding a little offended. “It’s a good song.”  
  
“I still think you should try something else. _The Sound of Silence,_ for example.”  
  
“They’d just think that I’m spending too much time with you.”  
  
“At least they’d be right about something for fucking once.”  
  
Marty chews on his lower lip. “Pussy, yeah?”  
  
“I pointed out that not everyone’s excited about that.”  
  
Marty glances at him. “You didn’t.”  
  
“Yeah, I did.”  
  
“Rust –“  
  
“Marty.”  
  
“Rust, you probably shouldn’t…” Marty takes a deep breath. “Just ignore them. That’s what I’m doing.”  
  
“It’s hard to ignore them when they’re discussing it right at my face.”  
  
“They don’t think you’d be interested in my love life. You should be happy that they aren’t asking you for information.”  
  
“I’d tell them you’re fucking the queen.”  
  
“The queen of which country?”  
  
“I don’t care. You pick one.”  
  
“Shit, you’re an asshole,” Marty says, but he’s smiling. “Are you coming for dinner tonight? I was thinking, maybe pasta.”  
  
“And meat balls? Just go easy on the salt this time.”  
  
“I’m much better cook than you are.”  
  
“No, you just have a bigger dick, so you think you’re better at everything else, too.”  
  
Marty’s quiet for a moment. “Really? That’s your level of being a smart-ass today? Not very impressive.”  
  
“Sorry. I have a headache.”  
  
“I’ve got painkillers in my bag. And I’ll try to remember that about the salt.”  
  
“Great,” Rust says.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next morning, Marty’s late again and the idiots are wondering where he’s met the woman. Michael still doesn’t believe there is a woman, Arthur thinks it’s none of their fucking business, Tom thinks Marty’s either paying someone for it or getting back together with Maggie, and Bill talks loudly about how there’s no way Marty would have time to go on a date when he’s working all those long hours with Rust.  
  
Then the worst fucking thing happens. They ask Rust if he knows who Marty is fucking.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes on the files at his desk. “Me.”  
  
There’s a second of frozen silence, and then they all burst to laughter.  
  
“I didn’t realize you’ve got a sense of humor, man,” Bill says.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“The guys were laughing about something,” Marty says that night, “when I got to the station.”  
  
Rust shrugs. They’re eating pizza at Marty’s place. “They asked me if I know who you are fucking. I said it’s me.”  
  
Marty turns to look at him with wide eyes.  
  
“Bill was very surprised about my great sense of humor.”  
  
“God, I hate you,” Marty says and pats him on the knee.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next day, Rust jogs to the station. He’s gained a few pounds since Marty got excited about cooking and the morning is nice enough, the sun isn’t shining and the clouds are looking gloomy. When he gets there, he takes a shower and that’s when Bill comes to talk to him. He’s drying his hair with the towel, didn’t even have time to put on boxers yet.  
  
“Morning, taxman,” Bill says to him. That’s weird. Usually the idiots just ignore him.  
  
“Morning,” Rust says and wraps the towel around his hips.  
  
“Crappy weather, isn’t it,” Bill says with a smile, then frowns. “Don’t you really know who Marty’s fucking? You’re with him all the time.”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says, “I already told you.”  
  
Bill sighs. “Alright. I just thought that maybe he’d tell you. You two seem kind of close, you know.”  
  
Rust stares at the idiot.  
  
“What about you?” Bill asks, looking like he suddenly remembered the sky is blue. “I’ve got a cousin, you know, a nice woman, kind of depressed but… talks about philosophy and stuff, maybe you’d like her. Want me to set you up?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Rust says but as nicely as he can, because the idiot thinks he’s doing Rust a favor.  
  
“I guess that’s a no,” Bill says and walks away. It’s a little surprising that he got that part right.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“Bill asked me if I want him to set me up with his cousin,” Rust tells Marty at the parking lot of McDonald’s. He’s been ready to go for at least five minutes, but Marty’s drinking his chocolate milkshake like he wants it to last until the fucking end of time.  
  
“What?” Marty asks, blinking. “Set you up? You?”  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says. “Came to when I was coming from the shower, still naked, of course, so maybe he saw potential there.”  
  
Marty looks down on Rust’s body. Rust is trying not to smile, he really is. He pretends to drink his milkshake to cover his face and Marty’s distracted enough not to remember that he finished the milkshake five minutes ago.  
  
“It’s his cousin,” he says then, and Marty’s eyes snap back onto his face. “Bill’s cousin. Bill says she’s depressed and talks philosophy, so it might be a good match.”  
  
“Rust,” Marty says, “I know you aren’t being serious here, but I don’t like this conversation.”  
  
“Drink your milkshake,” Rust says.  
  
Marty does, but he keeps looking at Rust like he’s worried Rust might call Bill any minute now to ask when the date is going to be.  
  
“What did you say?” Marty asks, when they’re back in the car.  
  
“I said _fuck you_.”  
  
Marty looks relieved and disapproving at the same time. Coincidentally, that look is one of Rust’s personal favorites, even though nothing in this world is ever going to make him admit that he’s cataloguing Marty’s expressions for personal use.  
  
“You know I’m not looking for a girlfriend,” he says instead.  
  
“Yeah, that kind of makes sense,” Marty says, and that’s the end of the conversation.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“Marty!” Bill says the next day, when they go to the station. Rust’s already got a headache. “Marty, come here for a second.”  
  
“What’s up, man?” Marty asks and walks to the idiots, pats Bill on the shoulder, asks Arthur about his cat and Michael about his kids. Rust goes to his desk and sits down. He’s got a bad feeling about this but then again, he’s always got a bad feeling.  
  
“I thought,” Bill says a few minutes later. Apparently, it took him a moment to warm up. “I thought, since you’re single now, maybe you’d like to meet someone.”  
  
Marty glances at Rust, and Rust looks straight back at him. This is Marty’s fault for whistling the goddamn _Swing Low, Sweet Chariot_ all the time. He’s not going to help Marty out of this.  
  
“Yeah, alright,” Marty says, turning back to Bill, “listen, man, I don’t really –“  
  
“Because I’ve got this cousin,” Bill says.  
  
Rust bites his lip.  
  
“Well, I’ve got a lot of cousins,” Bill adds, “but I thought, Pauline might be great for you, a nice pleasant woman, always in a good mood. Doesn’t talk much but isn’t stupid or anything.”  
  
“Oh, Bill,” Marty says. He’s clearly very unhappy. Rust is a little sympathetic but yeah, just a little. “I don’t think –“  
  
“Want me to set you up?” Bill asks with a smile that makes Rust wish he’d misplace a few front teeth. “It’s not like you’ve got someone else, man, is it?”  
  
And yeah, there’s the catch.  
  
Marty looks at Rust again. It’s the same look than when a week ago, he burned the pasta and stared at Rust with a look of disbelief and horror on his face. It was kind of sweet that he thought Rust would know what to do.  
  
“Bill,” Marty says, panicking a little but luckily everyone here is a blind idiot, “how about this? I tell you if I’m looking for company, and then you can –“  
  
“But it’s been six months, Marty,” Bill says, “surely you must be lonely now that you don’t have anyone in your life.”  
  
“Rust,” Marty says and clears his throat.  
  
Fucking hell. Rust has to help the idiot out. He stands up. “Marty, I need you. Now. There’s this one thing we were supposed to check out today and it can’t wait.”  
  
“Oh,” Marty says, “oh, yeah, that one thing. It really can’t wait. Sorry, Bill, sorry, guys, I guess we need to –“  
  
“Go,” Rust says, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“Yeah,” Marty says, “yeah, that’s it, we need to… go.”  
  
They end up driving around the block a few times. Then they pull the car over and watch the pigeons parading on the pavement.  
  
“I don’t know how you do it,” Marty says, still sounding a bit stressed, “how you stay so calm all the time.”  
  
“My trick,” Rust says, “is that they don’t like me. It makes it easy.”  
  
“I don’t want to go on a date with Bill’s cousin,” Marty says.  
  
“Yeah, me neither,” Rust says.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“What if they never shut up about it?” Marty asks the next morning. He’s brushing his teeth in Rust’s bathroom.  
  
Rust sighs and rinses his own toothbrush, then goes to the kitchen to get some coffee. When he goes back to the bathroom door, Marty’s looking at himself in the mirror, doing faces. He flinches a bit when he sees Rust there.  
  
“Trying to look tough?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Marty says and smiles at him. “Coffee’s ready?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They go to the kitchen. Rust didn’t use to eat breakfast, seems like a waste of time. But he’s gotten used to it by now. Marty fries eggs and then they sit at the table. Marty pretends he’s reading the newspaper and Rust looks at his fingers tapping nervously.  
  
“You think they’re going to figure it out?” Marty asks finally.  
  
“No,” Rust says.  
  
“No?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“But –“  
  
“I already told them,” Rust says. “They just didn’t get it, because it doesn’t fit in their imagination.”  
  
“Maybe their imagination is going to get better.”  
  
“I fucking hope it does. But people don’t change.”  
  
Marty shakes his head and stabs the fried eggs with the fork. The man likes to think he’s not violent in nature, self-deception at its best.  
  
“And what then?” Rust asks, because apparently he can’t shut up now. Maybe that’s because he slept for almost five hours last night. “What if they figure it out?”  
  
Marty looks at him for a long time. He’s not exactly sure what’s showing on his face and he doesn’t like it.  
  
“Nothing,” Marty says.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Marty nods.  
  
“You wouldn’t freak out?”  
  
“Well,” Marty says slowly, “I would definitely freak out.” Then he reaches over the table, brushes his fingers against Rust’s wrist, then takes Rust’s hand and squeezes it lightly. “You wouldn’t, though, so maybe you could knock some sense into me then.”  
  
“Alright,” Rust says.  
  
“Alright,” Marty says, pulls his hand away and goes back to eating. “But I’ll tell you one thing,” he says without looking Rust. “If nothing else works, we could always go on a double date with Bill’s cousins. If there’s really two of them and he’s not trying to get us together with the same one.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Rust says, not bothering to hide his smile.  
  
Marty glances at him. “Patience, there.”  
  
He takes a deep breath. “Marty –“  
  
“Rust,” Marty cuts in, looking at him with the same expression than when he woke up in Rust’s bed for the first time. That’s another one of Rust’s favorites, only it makes his chest feel tight like he’s got goddamn asthma or something. “Rust,” Marty says again.  
  
“Yeah,” Rust says, “alright.” Then he steals half of Marty’s newspaper.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next week, Rust tricks Marty into whistling _Diamonds and Rust,_ and the idiots at the station decide Marty’s not getting laid after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)


End file.
